


take violent things, angry things, and make them kind

by annella



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annella/pseuds/annella
Summary: Tseng only became more beautiful with age. The scar dragging crookedly across his forehead from the attack by the Remnants didn’t detract from it, nor did the fine lines above his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes. The deep wound on his torso from Sephiroth’s blade would always be a twisted mass of scar tissue, even after years of wound therapy, but Rufus loved it as much as he loved every other part of Tseng.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	take violent things, angry things, and make them kind

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics at the start taken from Sun by Sleeping At Last

_With golden string_

_Our universe was clothed in light_

_Pulling at the seams_

_Our once barren world now brims with life_

_That we may fall in love_

_Every time we open up our eyes_

_I guess space, and time_

_Takes violent things, angry things_

_And makes them kind_

Even after all the years they’d been together, Rufus never tired of watching Tseng get himself ready in the morning.

Tseng knew he was watching from the bed; he had noticed Rufus’ eye on him when he exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped up in a robe and with his hair in a towel. He’d tossed a smile Rufus’ way before slipping the robe off his shoulders and dropping it across the back of a chair.

When they first met, the robe would have been hung up immediately, and Rufus hid a smile thinking about how much Tseng had changed—how much he had _relaxed—_ over the years. The Tseng from their early years together used to insist upon carefully hanging his suit up before bending Rufus over the settee and fucking him until he shouted Tseng’s name. It used to drive Rufus to distraction; all he wanted to do was tear Tseng’s clothes off and scatter them indolently around his bedroom, but his Turk was determined to maintain a certain level of tidiness.

Rufus had tripped over Tseng’s shoes the previous night, left right in the middle of the entryway, and he’d almost burst out laughing at the very thought of it. 

He rolled over in bed, burrowing a little further under the blankets, admiring Tseng's naked form as he opened the closet. The years had been good to him, despite everything: he was as lean as ever, as lithely muscular as he had been when Rufus first met him. Rufus traced the shape of Tseng’s well-muscled back with his eye, dragging his gaze down over faded scars to his ass, which was still delightfully perky and squeezable.

There was a bruise on one cheek, and Rufus grinned at the memory of how Tseng had obtained it. Tseng had cursed up a storm the previous night as Rufus teased him, sliding his tongue over his cock just enough to rile him up before flipping him onto his stomach so Rufus could worship his ass. Tseng had let out a loud yelp when Rufus bit him, but it was followed up with a deep-throated moan when Rufus soothed the bruise with his tongue before parting his cheeks to dip his tongue further in.

“It _does_ ache, in case you’re wondering,” Tseng said, and Rufus glanced to the mirror, where he saw Tseng watching him with a smile on his face. 

“A reminder for you today,” Rufus replied, and Tseng gave him a long-suffering stare.

“Today being our meeting with Reeve, you mean. I’ll think of you whenever I’m sitting down.”

“Good,” Rufus drawled. They would be sitting down for most of the day; Reeve did like to talk a lot during their meetings to discuss the current efforts of the WRO. It had been over a decade since the healing rain which cured the stigma, and it was becoming more and more apparent that the WRO was running just fine with Reeve at the helm and without Rufus' assistance behind the scenes.

Rufus wasn’t sure what he would do when he was no longer needed. Tseng had talked about travel, of finally seeing more of the world after so long trying to put it back together. Rufus dreamed of idle days spent in Costa del Sol, sunbathing on the beach, drinking cocktails by the pool, diving into the cool blue waters of the ocean. Tseng was always with him in his dreams, decades spent at each other’s sides and now, the rest of their lives. There had been times when he didn't think they would make it this far, driven apart by crisis and by the deep-seated conviction that what they had was ephemeral and wouldn't last.

They'd been living in Costa del Sol for almost a year now, living Rufus' dreams, and he was sure he would be happy spending the rest of his life here with Tseng. 

Rufus watched as Tseng unwrapped his hair from the towel, combing through the damp strands with his fingers. It was long enough to touch the base of his spine, the ends tickling the curve of his ass, and Rufus longed to touch it. He never stopped wanting to touch Tseng’s hair, never stopped enjoying the smooth slide of it through his fingers. It was streaked with grey now, the ink-black mass broken up by strands of white. Tseng muttered complaints about it; Rufus loved it. 

“It makes you look distinguished,” Rufus had pointed out when Tseng first noticed the inevitable march of the years.

“You mean _old,”_ Tseng said with a sigh, singling out one white hair and yanking it out at the root.

“Don’t do that, a dozen more white ones will grow in its place.”

Tseng snorted. “I’ve already got _dozens.”_

“Besides, I’ve been going grey for _years_ and you don’t hear me complaining.”

“You made an appointment with your hairdresser immediately. It was _midnight_ and you called your hairdresser.” Tseng raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not the point,” Rufus said breezily, stroking Tseng’s hair and catching a few strands in his fingers. “You’re still beautiful. Even if all your hair turns white, you’ll still be beautiful.”

Rufus wasn’t lying; to him, Tseng only became more beautiful with age. The scar dragging crookedly across his forehead from the attack by the Remnants didn’t detract from it, nor did the fine lines above his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes. The deep wound on his torso from Sephiroth’s blade would always be a twisted mass of scar tissue, even after years of wound therapy, but Rufus loved it as much as he loved every other part of Tseng.

He watched as Tseng started combing his hair, his back still towards Rufus. The comb caught on a snarl and Tseng cursed quietly.

“Did you want me to?” Rufus asked. Tseng glanced back at him, a faint smile on his face, and he held out the comb. Rufus slid out of bed, shivering briefly as he left the warm cocoon of blankets, and tried not to blush when Tseng cast an admiring glance down his naked body.

He had his own fair share of scars. His prosthetic eye may be top of the line, but it was still visibly a fake if someone were to look too closely. Rufus wore glasses in equal part to help the vision in his remaining eye and to provide a small measure of disguise for this perceived flaw.

Tseng told him he was being ridiculous, that everyone on the planet had someone close to them who had suffered the effects of the stigma. Rufus was lucky to have just lost an eye, an eye which had already been irreparably damaged from the attack by Diamond Weapon.

He clung to his vanity, what dregs of it he could still muster in his ravaged body. Tseng still called him beautiful, and over time, Rufus hoped that one day he might believe him again. It was difficult, looking down at himself; all he saw were scars and withered flesh, a body still too thin after the stigma had been purged, faint marks on his skin left from where it had affected him the worst, and he wondered what Tseng was seeing.

“You should start getting ready soon,” Tseng murmured, perching on the chair in front of the vanity as Rufus started sliding the comb through his hair. 

Rufus ignored him, concentrating on his task. “Shall I tie it back for you?” He untangled a small knot and continued with the comb until it ran through Tseng’s hair like water.

“Mmm.” Tseng sounded drowsy; Rufus touching his hair always either riled him up to the point where he would push Rufus down onto whatever surface was closest and climb on top of him, or it would send him off to sleep. He leaned back against Rufus’ stomach, the damp hair cool against his skin, and closed his eyes. “We don’t have to get going that soon, come to think of it.”

Rufus grinned. The meeting was in half an hour, but he was sure Reeve wouldn’t mind if they postponed it until the afternoon. He lifted the heavy mass of hair aside and placed a kiss on Tseng’s ear and down his neck, following a faint scar left by an encounter with a desperate mugger in the back streets of Edge a year or more past.

“I’ll tell him we were held up,” Rufus murmured, putting the comb down and sliding his hands down Tseng’s chest, allowing his fingertips to tease Tseng’s nipples as he stroked him. Tseng let out a small gasp, shifting in his seat, and Rufus glanced down to see that he was already on his way to getting hard.

Even after decades, Rufus never tired of Tseng, never tired of his body, his hands, his cock. He still loved kissing him more than anything, and he leaned down, turning his head to the side to place a warm kiss on Tseng’s lips. Tseng responded instantly, another stifled moan escaping him as he cupped the back of Rufus’ head and pulled him in closer.

“Oh!” Rufus almost lost his balance when Tseng suddenly grabbed him by the hips and dragged him down; he practically tumbled onto Tseng’s lap, his legs spread over his lover’s thighs as their mouths met again. 

The spark had never left their relationship. Even during the dark years of his geostigma, when their lovemaking had taken a necessary pause, his desire for the Turk had never lessened. After he was cured, he had taken Tseng to their private quarters at Healen and they hadn’t left for days, re-learning each other’s bodies, Tseng tracing the marks left on Rufus’ skin, Rufus clinging desperately to Tseng as they reaffirmed their love for one another.

Rufus pulled away from Tseng’s mouth, pressing their foreheads together as they shared breath. 

“Why don’t you get down on your knees for me?” Tseng breathed, gently stroking Rufus’ neck and down to his shoulders. 

He didn’t need any more convincing, and Tseng sighed in pleasure when Rufus took his cock into his mouth. “I was thinking about this in the shower,” he said, his voice rough and breathy, as Rufus slid up and back down again, wrapping a hand around the base. He looked up at Tseng, maintaining eye contact as he swallowed him down. “Gods, I love your mouth.”

It didn’t take long; within minutes, Tseng was gasping Rufus’ name and clutching his hair as he spilled down his throat, and Rufus smiled up at him as he wiped droplets of come from his lips. Tseng panted, his hands now languid in Rufus’ hair as he caught his breath, his eyes dark and a wide smile on his face. He leaned down for a kiss, licking into Rufus’ mouth and tasting himself before sliding off the chair to join him on the floor.

“Do you want my mouth?” he asked, kissing Rufus’ ear and wrapping a hand around him. He was already hard and straining, and his hips bucked into Tseng’s hand.

“Just—talk to me,” Rufus said, clutching desperately at Tseng’s waist as his lover jerked him off with an expert touch. He knew Rufus’ cock almost better than he knew his own, knew what he loved the most, and he wrapped his arm around Rufus’ body, holding him close as he brought him close to the edge.

“Remember how you moaned last night?” Tseng murmured into his ear, and Rufus nodded, open-mouthed and gasping against Tseng’s shoulder. “Gods, all I can think about sometimes is how you look on my cock, your legs spread wide for me.” His hand travelled down Rufus’ back until he was cupping his ass, and Rufus cried out when Tseng slapped him—payback for the bite, no doubt. 

“Fuck!” Rufus yelped when Tseng did it again, the sharp sound and sudden sting reverberating through him. Tseng chuckled, the sound rich and dark, and Rufus bit down on the firm muscle of Tseng’s shoulder as the hand around his cock sped up and pulled him over the edge.

They collapsed in a heap on the floor, the plush carpet breaking their fall. Rufus laughed softly, splayed on his back with Tseng lying across him, both of them giddy and smiling like a couple of teenagers who had shared orgasms for the first time.

“Never gets old,” Rufus said quietly, combing his fingers through Tseng’s hair. “Unlike us.”

“It doesn’t matter how old we get,” Tseng replied, propping himself up across Rufus’ chest and gazing down at him. “With you, I never feel older than twenty.”

Rufus pulled him down for another kiss, and in the end, they postponed the meeting for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> A late Christmas gift for Anna. ♥


End file.
